My relationship with Delhi has always been fraught with uncertainty. As a young boy I dreamt of living in the city, roaming the bylanes and preparing with all my might for the UPSC exam. But it would be 4 years after my graduation that I would take a flight to the City of Djinns. With modest savings, I had dared to come to stay for a year. But I soon realised that my savings would run out and I wouldn’t be able to focus on the task at hand. So I bid goodbye to my friend who had kindly hosted me in his flat in Malviya Nagar and took the train home. I had hoped UPSC would invite me for an interview in the coming year. I never got that call.
Years later, I would visit the city a few times and those visits were always made memorable by the trips to various localities within the city. Majnu ka Tilla, Old Rajinder Nagar and University area, Qutub Minar, Shahpur Jat, Hauz Khas and many more. But a lasting rapport with Delhi had always remained elusive. And no matter what I did, the city would remain a distant unfulfilled dream to me.
So when I found myself in the city unexpectedly one March morning, I was delighted. The red silk cotton tree was in bloom so was the Palash, Delhi sported a nice shade of spring. The temperature was perfect, I was not carrying any warm clothes anyway. I found myself marvelling at how beautiful the canopies looked everywhere I went. After a night in Noida, I had a red-eye to catch the next evening.
I was wondering what to do and then I remembered seeing the beautiful dome of Humayun’s tomb on the horizon on my way to Noida. It was 5: 30 PM, I hurriedly got into a cab with a resolve to make it before 6 PM – the closing time. I was hopeful that I could talk my way through and get an entry. But alas! By the time I reached, the gates had shut. There was no way to enter. Worse, I couldn’t even get a glimpse of the tomb.
Dejected, I thought of persuading the guards. After some convincing they said that they were allowed to open the gates after all the tourists in the “day” shift had exited. I would have to get a ticket and I wouldn’t be allowed to go near the mausoleum, but if I waited I could get a glimpse of it from afar. The entry would begin by 7. I had about 45 minutes to kill. I sat there on a bench outside admiring the dusk. Sunder Nursery was also nearby and I could have walked around there but I was in no mood of dragging my luggage so I stayed put.
At around 6:45 PM, the guard turned a board around and displayed the QR code to get my tickets. The complex was dimly lit, an almost full moon was rising to the east. There were only five others and they were walking slowly, and chatting loudly so I overtook them on the path to the tomb. They were in no mood to race with me. Guidebooks mentioned the presence of various other structures but it was too dark to see any of them so I continued to walk. My footsteps echoing in the silence, which was pierced by the classic ‘meow’ – the calls of peacocks who live in the complex. As I approached the main complex, crows began to cry out and many bats fluttered in the darkness.
The beauty of Mughal structures is that while you approach from the entrance, till the main gateway, seeing the mausoleum is impossible. You have to walk all the way to the main darwaza or the gate and let the magic unfold between the arches. And that’s what happened as I walked through to the doorway, the dome came into view – glistening under the spotlights trained on it, the brass finial on the dome glinting under the moonlight. It was a spectacular sight. The guards stationed there were quiet, all of us stood in silence admiring the structure. It was a pity that I couldn’t see any more of the detailing but on the other hand for a brief moment, it was just me and the staff in this sacred site. The site which had been cleansed of all visitors, all of us revelled in the silence.
Humayun’s tomb is significant for more than one reason. For one, Humayun is responsible for ensuring the continuity of the Mughal empire, for it was in 1555 that Humayun reestablished the Mughal stronghold after the great 15 year Suri interregnum. Having overthrown the descendants of the Suri dynasty who occupied the Delhi throne from 1540 to 1555. This was the bedrock on which Akbar was to lay the stronger foundations of Mughal rule. Therefore, when Humayun died in 1556, the decision to build a grand mausoleum would have been taken. The grandeur of the structure signalled the long term association of the Mughals with India and a message that they were here to stay as mentioned by Swapna Liddle, writing in the 14 Historic Walks of Delhi.
The tomb took about 8 years to be built and it is perhaps the first one to have the char-bagh gardens. The complex also houses graves of various “Later” Mughals as well as chieftains. And finally, it is historically even more significant because during the 1857 uprisings, when Delhi fell – the last Mughal – Bahadur Shah Zafar and his family took shelter in the tomb. It was here on the 21st September 1857 that the last Mughal was arrested and incarcerated and then subsequently tried for his role in the mutiny. While the young princes were executed in broad daylight by Capt Hodson, Bahadur Shah was transported to Rangoon where he finally died. Many years later, the refugees escaping the horrors of partition would again seek refuge within the tomb and other structures across the city.
Standing at the boundary of the char-bagh with the large structure standing solemnly in front of me, I couldn’t help but think of all that it must have witnessed. A young Akbar walking the tracks, supervising the construction work, along with his step mother and the subsequent princes who must have visited to pay respects to the tombs and to the old and frail Bahadur Shah being taken away by Capt. Hodson to the cries of the refugees. I decided to go back and return soon.
My friend, A, had recommended that since I was in Nizammudin, I should go have some kebabs at Ghalib Kebab Corner. So I did, it was not far from the tomb. The street was lit and it was just after iftar, the fast had been broken and the crowd was milling so instead of going to the Dargah first, I decided to visit the eatery. Tucked in a lane bustling with eateries, Ghalib is an unassuming kebab place. I placed an order for the sheekh kebab (butter) and rumali roti. The kebabs were perfectly seasoned and well cooked, they came drenched in butter and the rumali roti was a better accompaniment than tandoori roti. They had many other things available but I wanted to eat light. I tried a few other kebabs while chatting with the students from DU who were sharing the table. They recommended the sheekh roll but I was full. A food vlogger came and took my byte – a quick review from me as I ate my kebabs. He was quite candid about the hardwork that goes into making vlogs, even shots take a lot of time he told me. I empathised with his troubles, so I subscribed to his channel and gave him a like. I wonder if I will make it to the vlog!
I then came out of the lane and took the left to go to the shrine of Hazrat Nizammudin Auliya – a prominent sufi saint of the Chisti order. He lived in Delhi between the late 13th century and early 14th century AD. I had only read of this sacred site so I was keen on visiting, even though I had arrived here without a plan. I was worried about trudging my trolley along and midway, a small shop owner invited me to keep it at his shop. He said if I wished and only if I wished, I could buy a small offering of flowers. I did so and he said I should take two for the other tomb. I had no idea what he meant by the other tomb so I proceeded with just one. The entry to the complex is through a narrow approach, which is covered on all sides and lined with shops selling adornments and memorabilia on either side.
As you enter the complex, you are greeted with the site of the dargah. Brilliant white and well lit. On Thursdays, the qawwals sing qawwali in praise of the Sufi saint but it was a Friday when I visited so things were quiet. A man from the trust sought some donation and I made a small offering in the name of my father, whose birthday it was that day. He had taken us kids to various dargahs across the city, including the famous Makhdoom Baba Mahimi dargah in Mahim during the urs and also of course to Haji Ali. Makhdoom Baba also was a contemporary of Hazrat Nizammuddin but belonged to a different order. In any case, this introduction to these saints was done early on in my life and ever since then I have found myself right at home in these complexes along with the devout who come here diligently.
I entered the shrine after covering my head and stood in silence. A local politician and his family entered the shrine with a big chaadar as offering and I found myself also holding the sheet along with all others present over the tomb. It was a sombre moment. It also reflected the teaching of Hazrat Nizamuddin who welcomed people of all faiths to his kanqah while preaching one-ness with the almighty.
I exited the shrine and headed to the “other” shrine. I had no idea who it belonged to until I saw a board. This shrine was of Amir Khusro, the great poet, playwright and literary genius of the 13th & 14th century. He is known for his poetry, introducing qawwali as a form of sufi worship style, invention of the sitar and his contribution to the development of Hindawi. Amir Khusro, the “Parrot of India”, had always been a fascinating personality for me as he was a common thread running between various dynasties and continued to contribute towards the rich culture of the sub-continent.
He was the court poet of seven rulers including Allaudin Khalji. So to arrive at the tomb of this literary giant was a pleasant surprise. Clearly, I had done no research for my visit but this is what made my visit more memorable. There were other graves and shrines and many other structures all around me such Jehnara’s tomb – the daughter of Shah Jahan or the tomb of Muhammad Shah – Rangila, another of the late mughals known for his interest in the arts. Nizammudin is a living historical neighbourhood, perhaps because everyone believes that Hazrat Nizammudin himself continues to live on as William Darlymple notes in the venerable City of Djinns. Unlike the ruins across Delhi, this neighbourhood continues to carry on the tradition of many centuries.
My time in Delhi was coming to an end. The past few weeks had been quite taxing and I was in need of some solace. And solace is what I found in this corner of Delhi. Sleep had been evasive and my appetite had suffered, I had forgotten to drink water and thanks to the sore throat I was off coffee, and I must have shed a few kilos for sure. But here, on that Friday evening I felt right at home, a semblance of peace had descended upon me. And in that cool Delhi evening, I found myself at peace. At peace with how things had turned out, at peace knowing things would improve.
Maybe it was the unexpected encounter, maybe it was the air of Nizammudin, that I wanted to spend more time walking around the structures, living and old.
I wanted to sit on the marble verandah and watch the world in silence. I wanted to walk under the red semal trees picking up the flowers strewn on the ground. I wanted to eat more of the good food and enjoy a chai by the Yamuna. But perhaps that is why there would be another time, another chance for me to visit this ancient, layered city that continues to hold many secrets within her fold, with the djinns flitting in and out of her lanes. So I promised myself to return, this time sooner than later and I rolled down the window of my cab as we zipped through the traffic – Bhagwan Singh ji and I, towards T1, passing embassies and consulates, bungalows and bastis, and of course the semal trees in bloom.